Poems Poems BY Eva Gore -Booth Hold the hye wey and lat thy gost thee Iede.' Chaucer. LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON NEW YORK AND BOMBAY 1898 All rights reserved PR 013 TO JULIAN STUEGIS MOST GENEROUS OF ARTISTS AND KINDEST OF FRIENDS THIS BOOK IS GEATEFULLY DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR 367786 NOTE Several of these Poems have appeared in various magazines. For kind permission to have them re- printed, the Author's thanks are due to the Editors of ' The Irish Homestead,' ' Longman's Magazine,' * Temple Bar,' and the ' Yellow Book.' CONTENTS FAQK i >A4fl From the German . . 1 A Farle . . . t . 24 A Love Song 2 To the People on Earth 25 In Praise of Lirerty 4 A Spirit in Prison . 26 Attainment . 6 Weariness . . . . 28 A Welcome 8 Promises .... 30 Prayer of the Modern A Student . . . . 31 Greek 9 Jane Clermont to Byron 32 Disillusion 11 Preoccupation . 33 An Epitaph . . . 12 Aspirations . . . . 34 Rest 13 An Author 35 The Pilgrim 14 An Old Story . . . 36 A Critic . 15 Tricolor .... 37 The Musician to his A Discovery . . . 38 Lady 16 Die Rheinrahn 39 From a Far Country 17 A Politician . . . 40 The Repentance of Eve . 19 Dead Leaves . 41 Joan of Arc 20 Morning Glory , . . 42 A Storm 21 A Nightmare . 43 Triolet . 22 To a Poet . . . . 44 To 23 A Song .... 46 CONTENTS PAGTC 1 An Idyll ' . . . . 49 Song of the Fair Exile 52 The Exile's Return . . 55 Clouds .... 58 A Traitor . . . . 60 An Epitaph 63 Finger Posts . . . 68 Hymn ... 73 Sonnet 75 A Soldier 76 February at Adare . . 80 A Choice .... 82 Sweet Peas. . . . 84 Lament .... 86 Sonnet 89 The Abbot's Epitaph 90 Shut out . ... 92 PAGR Petty Larceny . . 93 Monotony . . . . 94 Transmigration A Night- mare 95 From Bacon . . .96 To May . . . . 97 A Welcome . . . 103 A Lost Memory . . . 104 Spring in Manchester . 106 After the Storm . . 109 Defeated . . . .110 From the French . .112 The Philosopher . .113 To Certain Reformers . 114 Fallen Nature . .116 Visions of Solitude . 119 Finis 128 FROM THE GERMAN (Lessing) If, Reader, for these poems you should lack All sense of gratitude, all words of praise, At least you might be thankful for the lays That I kept back. t. A LOVE SONG Like a wave that roams the sea So lonely and so free, Like a cloud that haunts the sky, So distant and so high, Like the fragrant summer wind, So gentle and so kind, Like a castle in the air, So joyous and so fair, Like a lily by the wall, So golden and so tall, . Gay as any flower that blows, Splendid as a sun-lit rose, Bright and bravely blossoming, Is my Lady of the Spring. Fair of face, and clear of sight, Living always in the light, Valorous and free and strong As the wind's courageous song, All of magic sunshine made, Secret as a forest glade, A LOVE SONG 3 Silver-lit beneath dark trees By pale-starred anemones, Fair as that white dawn that gleams Through the ivory gate of dreams, Glorious to gaze upon, With strange lights of summers gone, Silver of bright daisies stored, Smallest change in summer's hoard, Gold of vanished daffodils, Is my Lady of the Hills. The grace of all things gay, The joy of a swallow's flight, The light of a summer's day, The peace of a moon-lit night, All the strength, and the hope, and the glad- ness of living are hers, And her voice is the voice of the wind in a forest of firs. B2 IN PBAISE OF LIBEBTY Some care for glory, some for peace, The dying have desire to live ; Sad spirits pray for death's release, The rest that sleep alone can give ; But peace, or strife, or toil, or rest, The stir of life, the silent grave I know that Liberty is best, And no man sadder than a slave. And some would see their wealth increase, And some would hoard, and some would give, And each man has his own caprice, And all delight is fugitive ; A silken robe, a ragged vest, For prince or beggar, fool or knave I know that Liberty is best, And no man sadder than a slave. True lovers, when their kisses cease Cannot forget, will not forgive, That Love has but a mortal lease, A little time to strive and live ; IN PRAISE OF LIBERTY They cannot stay the parting guest, They can but curse the joy they crave. I know that Liberty is best, And no man sadder than a slave. For Love is not life's masterpiece, And Hope has nothing much to give, And they who find the golden fleece Do not so greatly care to live ; Though rich men smile, and saints are blest, And kings rejoice, and lovers rave, I know that Liberty is best, And no man sadder than a slave. Slave, Love is but a passing jest, And life the Herald of the Grave ; Of these three Liberty is best, And no man sadder than a slave. ATTAINMENT I left the brazen tower on the plain, And climbed up here through the rain and cold, But now I'll never believe again The rainbow's promise of faery gold. Oh ! better the glad earth's golden green Than the fading rainbow's fickle light, And better the seen than the unseen, The sunny day than the starry night. For there 's storm and sorrow and little mirth On the hill where the rainbow touches the earth. Green was the hill from the distant plain, The grass was covered with Mary's gold, In the brazen tower again and again The song was sung and the tale was told ; Wonderful songs of the Eainbow Queen And her treasure hid from mortal sight, The gold deep buried beneath the green, And watched by the goblins day and night. For there 's gold and glamour and light and mirth On the hill where the rainbow touches the earth. ATTAINMENT 7 Vain were the words and the warnings vain Of those phantom faces pale and cold, Faces of dead men lost or slain On the bitter quest of the rainbow gold. How can one fight with a foe unseen ? So near the sky should one want for light ? Where an angel's footstep once has been A star shines out on the darkest night For there 's light and hope and the shadow of mirth On the hill where the rainbow touches the earth. The sun burns low, on the marshy plain White fogs hang heavily, dank and cold, And the brazen tower gleams through the rain, It gleams and glitters and looks like gold. Yet here there 's nothing but grey and green, A barren hill on a windy night, Not a sight nor sound of the Faery Queen, Or the buried gold, or the mystic light, No gladness, nor glory, nor joy, nor mirth, On the hill where the rainbow touches the earth. A WELCOME I, the ancient King, and guardian of the city, Crave your justice, noble friend, and trust your pity; When you ride triumphant down the streets at last, As you trample under foot the gardens of the past, Be the grass untrodden where the cypress waves, Leave some roses blooming on your fathers' sombre graves ; Cast no flaming torch to burn a house that falls, Let the ivy hang unhindered from the ruins of its walls ; And although you crown your brows, as victors should, with bays, Leave the laurels in the churchyard, for the dead have naught but praise. PBAYEB OF THE MODERN GBEEK Heroes, from the fields of light, Will ye watch the unequal fight ? Souls who urged the battle on To victory at Marathon ; Gods who bent from heaven to see Earth's valley of Thermopylae, Laurel-crowned and throned in state, Free spirits, ye who fought of late A fight as glorious as this By sea-surrounded Salamis ; See the incense of our prayer Dulls the bright Elysian air, Whilst echoes of our grief and wrong Still ring across the fields of song. Hasten, help us, Strong and True, Surely we have need of you ; Best no more by lonely streams, Where Peace amongst her olives dreams, Go forth, nor linger as you pass, To gather poppies in the grass, to PRAYER OF THE MODERN GREEK But grasp your rusty swords again, Ye peaceful ones, for peace is slain. Placid-browed, indifferent-eyed, Cast your laurel wreaths aside ; Let each man take his victor's crown And fling it down, oh, fling it down ! Let Liberty's coarse cap of red Flame out athwart your brows instead, Ye souls of heroes long since dead. II DISILLUSION When I was young The Sirens were most fair ; Golden harps and golden hair In a strange golden tongue Their songs were sung. Now I am old, The Muse is all my care ; She is more fair Than Sirens manifold, When one is old. 12 AN EPITAPH ' Alas that every flower is dead ! ' These words a smiling angel read Carven on an ancient stone, By wild roses overgrown. i3 BEST All day the city's din Must hem me in, And thus sublime At evening time Comes my release, Where daisies, white In the sun's bright light, All silver pure The moon endure, And Heaven allows the stars caprice, Under grey olive boughs I seek for peace. 14 THE PILGRIM Thus did she follow Art, Like a starved sparrow, Picking up every crumb Dropped on life's muddy road. Meanwhile an arrow Sharp pointed from the gods' abode Did quickly come, And struck her to the heart. i5 A CRITIC His was the voice That when the morning stars together sang In their first rapture of awakened life And God's own angels held their breath for joy, Whilst heaven, by that new harmony entranced, Was wrapped in awful silence broke the charm, Serenely speaking in cold accents thus 1 1 know not, yet methinks 'twas Jupiter Went out of tune and spoilt the whole effect.' i6 THE MUSICIAN TO HIS LADY Behold this life's a glorious thing ! Beloved, for thy joyous sake, I'll write such music as shall make Sad angels sing. 17 FROM A FAR COUNTRY I have such longing to be home again, 'Tis lucky that the Muse Doth still refuse To visit me on winged Pegasus, For if she came to see me riding thus I might be tempted with prosaic force To steal her horse. i8 Drudgery itself is a sort of goddess. Symonds. Goddess of Drudgery, to thee I dedicate my hopes and all my days, Knowing that labour brings no earthly praise Nor heavenly bliss for guerdon, Only this : The promise of a higher life, to be The lightening of life's burden Of satiety. 19 THE BEPENTANCE OF EVE (a picture by con gore-booth) This is our Mother Eve, who shall not win Eespite or peace ; in vain she makes lament She ate but half the fruit, sinned half the sin, Eternal hunger is her punishment. She weeps and mourns for that sweet apple's sake Whilst high above her in the sacred tree, Coiled round its withered boughs, the wily snake Smiles over her lost opportunity. c2 20 JOAN OF ABC The treasure of age and the hope of youth And the hidden light of the dreamer's heart, A treacherous word in the ear of Truth, The breath of fools on the mirror of Art ; H!onour and glory and slander and shame, These are the golden gifts of Fame. And the soul that fought for a laurel crown Shall flaunt it aloft in the victor's car, But his golden fancies must dwindle down Like the flames that kindled a burnt out star ; Indolence, safety, a glorious name, These are the golden gifts of Fame. But she whose spirit was strong in the strife Has gained the guerdon that was her due The torture of death and the height of life, The blackness of Hell and the Heaven's blue, Strength and rapture and sword and flame, These are the golden gifts of Fame. 21 A STOBM From the jasmine on the wall Such thick showers of white stars fall, That the violet at her feet Shivers in her safe retreat, Looking upward, blue with fright, Shudders at the dreadful sight, Folds her leaves and crouches low, Hiding from such early snow ; Nay, it is not Winter yet, Only Autumn, Violet ! 22 TRIOLET ('l'amitie est l' amour sans ailes ') If love has lost a wing He shall not fly away, For life has lost a sting If love has lost a wing, Though, idly wandering, He yet may go astray ; If love has lost a wing He shall not fly away. 23 TO - In lines thus narrow Your mind can harrow The fields of thought, But never the wheat Shall grow at your feet ; You don't know how To drive the plough, You won't be taught ; You'll find to-morrow, With heavy sorrow, Your harvest naught. 24 A FABLE When restless Psyche of the radiant wings In pity on a drooping lily lit, She meant to rest a while and gladden it With light and life and faery flutterings. This was the sorrow of a summer's morn : Just then, a laughing child, half mad with play And sunshine, chased the butterfly away, And the poor flower was left for aye forlorn. 25 TO THE PEOPLE ON EABTH \ Ye tortured mortals, cease your cries, Ye are but fools who thus forget That in the centre of your Bridge of Sighs There is an oubliette ! 26 A SPIBIT IN PBISON At midnight on the high sea A strange voice spoke to me, Strange eyes gleamed through the blast, A strange form stood by the mast. These are the words the phantom spoke : * I was the Dryad of an ancient oak, ' My house was deep in the forest glade, 1 Strong were the walls, green was the shade. 1 Oh for the life so bright and good, 1 The long cool grass, the sun-lit wood, ' The dear delight of mother earth, 1 The gladness of her summer mirth, 1 Beneath my feet her greenery spread, 1 And great boughs rustling overhead !' 1 Oh for the sheets of shining blue, 1 Down by the stream where the hyacinths grew 1 Now the Naiads dream alone, ' And the laurel's overgrown, 1 Strangling ivy free to choke ' Every unprotected oak ; A SPIRIT IN PRISON 27 1 Nettles growing long and rank ' Straggle up the river bank ; 1 Unmourned, neglected utterly, 1 Sweet flowers shed their leaves and die. 1 Great Phoebus, I would rather now ' Be the poor wretch who drives the plough ' From morn till even, toiling thus, ' In long straight lines monotonous ; ' Whose feet have never learnt to stray 1 From drudgery's most narrow way ; ' Than wander up and down the earth ' Bereft of freedom, void of mirth ; ' No strife well fought, no battle won, 1 No sweet rest earned, no labour done. ' The ghost of a nymph thus fettered fast 1 To this ghost of a tree men call a mast. ' Tossing always to and fro 1 Where ever you mortals choose to go, 1 Thus I live on the wild sea, Misery, ah misery ! ' 28 WEARINESS Amid the glare of light and song And talk that knows not when to cease, The sullen voices of the throng, My weary soul cries out for peace, Peace and the quietness of death ; The wash of waters deep and cool, The wind too faint for any breath To stir oblivion's silent pool, When all who swim against the stream, And they that laugh, and they that weep, Shall change like flowers in a dream That wither on the brows of sleep. For silence is the song sublime, And every voice at last must cease, And all the world at evening time Floats downwards through the gates of peace, Beyond the gloom of shadowy caves Where water washes on the stones, WEARINESS 29 And breaks with quiet foamless waves The night's persistent monotones ; The stars are what the flowers seem, And where the sea of thought is deep, The moonlight glitters like a dream, On weary waters gone to sleep. 3 PBOMISES Snowdkops pushing through the snow Already bring, From nature's quiet grave below The cold and darkness whence they grow, White thoughts of Spring. 3* A STUDENT I am well learned in all the weary lore Of all the ancients, and my brain is tired ; Each day I seem to wonder more and more, Is this great knowledge much to be desired ? But just two things I'd really like to know These childish questions haunt me day and night- 1 Where do the spirits of dead people go ? And, in the darkness, what becomes of light ? ' 3 2 JANE CLERMONT TO BYEON Youb words are vain. You wounded me ; the pain was fierce, But now at last Your power is past, For, like a wasp, you left your sting In my sore sorrow festering ; And thus you lost the means to pierce My heart again. 33 PBEOCCUPATION Thus did our swift boat past the islands glide, The pleasant islands of Delight and Youth, Where dwell the Sirens ; as it sped along He did not even hear their fatal song, For Orpheus was standing by his side, Making sweet music of an unknown truth. 34 ASPIBATIONS Eels in the mud of the garden pond, Do you ever think of a life beyond, Do you ever see that the sky is blue, And wish that the moon was nearer you ? Do you ever sigh when the skylark sings, And dream of wings ? 35 AN AUTHOR He wrote all day, he could not think, His very blood was turned to ink, He burned with endless patient toil Whole gallons full of midnight oil A sort of Paper Chase sublime He ran with Time. Methinks he strewed the scent too thick, Time caught him, he grew old and sick ; He ran too fast, he lost his breath And fell an easy prey to death. i>2 36 AN OLD STORY A maiden loved Diogenes, Well she thought the sage to please, But he did not understand her, Treated her like Alexander ; To all her blandishments replied, ' Gracious Maiden, stand aside, When your pleasant talk is done I would see the blessed sun.' After such cross words as these, Still she loved Diogenes. 37 TRICOLOR In liberty of thought, Equality of life, The generations sought A rest from hate and strife. Hard work on common ground, Strong arms and spirits free, In these at last they found Fraternity. 38 A DISCOVEBY Hope and Life came to the well Where dwelt the toad Despair, They said, ' It's deep, and who can tell If truth lies buried there.' They stirred the bottom with a stick, They sought for Truth's abode, And only found the mud was thick, And in it lived a Toad. 39 DIE BHEINBAHN Als sie beendet war, Em junger Fischer sah, Im hellen Mondenschein, Von ihrem Fels, mit wild Geschrei, Das schonste Madchen Lorelei Sich toll hinunter stiirzen in den Bhein. 4 A POLITICIAN ' Oh, Sisyphus, a weary life is yours Of endless toil and unrewarded pain.' ' Not so, my friend,' said he ; ' I toil to push my stone uphill, of course, But then I rest, and there's a sight to see Each time, with right good will, The stone turns slowly on the hill, Although I rolled it up with all my force, The little impish schoolboy in my brain Chuckles to watch it rattling down again.' 4i DEAD LEAVES Is this what it means to die Free and fair, powers of the air, On the wings of the wind to fly Bold and bright, in sheets of light Out of the shaken sky ; Over the wold in showers of gold Stricken of colours manifold, Shattered and scattered left to lie Is this what it means to die ? Is this what it means to die Bound and round, down to the ground, Floating and falling helplessly, Gold in the dust as dead things must, Wet and sodden, or hard and dry, Footsteps drowned in a rustling sound, Sweet to the feet of the passer by ; To soar like gods for a space, and then To be trodden underfoot of men, Prostrate thus in the dust to lie Is this what it means to die ? 42 MOBNING GLOBY Pebfectly pure and pale, a thing apart, Where long rank grass and common hedge flowers grow, Most like a star cast down from Heaven thou art, Here, by the dusty wayside, lying low With one brown earth stain at thy radiant heart. 43 A NIGBTMABE I wrote eight verses late last night, And slept, and lo ! a wondrous sight, There came eight funerals instead Marching slowly past my bed. x\s they went each nodding plume Swayed and rhymed across the gloom. In the twinkling of an eye, The whole procession passed me by, And every verse became a hearse To carry murdered poetry. 44 TO A POET No voices speak to thee No visions shalt thou see The very sunset thou shalt know But in its fading afterglow. In thy mind's secret place Is neither light, nor song, nor grace Foolish echoes, void of sound, Wander o'er the stony ground. In such an arid desert set, Music doth her truth forget ; And in her highest rapture croons But snatches of remembered tunes. Think' st thou tnat life shall cast divine Pearls before such feet as thine? Strive as well thou mayest strive Thou art only half alive. Ah, God ! the sounds unheard, The whispered word, The songs unsung By mortal tongue, TO A POET 45 The shaft of light, Straight from the low sun's golden bow, No power shall throw Across thy spirit's night, Nor any life, nor beauty, shalt thou know, But endless echoes, and an afterglow ! 46 A SONG I sing the song of the river, That mirrors the shallow stars, While misty moonbeams shiver Behind their cloudy bars ; The stars, in mystic dances, Flicker and flash and gleam, To woo with then: burning glances The icy-hearted stream. A voice of siren gladness Floats clear across the sky, And kindles into madness The river's melody. For heaven's fairest daughters Are singing like love-sick maids, To waken the sleepy waters With starry serenades. A SONG 47 These cunning, clear-voiced Pleiads Shine out so near, they seem To lie like white-armed Naiads On the breast of the loving stream ; The song of the starry seven Floats down in waves of light Across the vaults of heaven And through the shades of night. I sing the song of the showers That fall on the river's breast, Forsaking their cloudy towers Away in the gleaming west ; They whisper the secret story How fair, on far-off heights, The stars, in lonely glory, Burn cold, deceitful lights. The river laughs in their faces, Despising their fickle play, Now he knows their airy graces Are thousands of miles away ; And they will not leave the beauty And light of heaven above, For a doubtful earthly duty, And a humble earthly love. 48 A SONG I sing the song of the rushes, That bend o'er the river and pry To read its heart as it gushes In musical gladness by. It ripples over the shingle, And passes in laughter away, To where its waters mingle With the ocean of yesterday. 49 *AN IDYLL' (A Picture by Maurice Gbeiffenhagen.) In the twilight land of gleams, Through the dusky waves of corn, Where the scarlet sunset dreams Languid of the morrow morn ; Where the poppies nod and smile, Climbing slowly, one by one, Past the bank, beyond the stile, Up to meet the setting sun. Let us wander on and on, As the dreamy poppies do, Till the silent night is gone, And we meet the morning blue. If we wander very far, We shall find that distant land, Where the rainbow jewels are Buried deep beneath the sand. Dreamy eyes and gleaming hair, Where are gems that flash and shine E 5 o AN IDYLL Like those jewels rich and rare On the breast of Proserpine. For we toil not, must not weep, Cannot feel your scorn, In the arms of love and sleep, Dreaming through the corn. So they wandered through the fields, Till they came at last to Life, Holding up two golden shields And her poisoned sword of strife. And they would have passed her by, But she lifted up her head "With a passing weary sigh, And reluctantly she said : You must toil and you must weep Bear my love and scorn,' Far from where the poppies sleep, Nodding through the corn. 1 Take these heavy golden shields, Wake and gird yourselves to fight, Leave the dreamy poppy fields And the dreary shades of night.' But he flung the shield aside, Down the sword of life she cast, AN IDYLL 51 Dreamily he clasped his bride, Dreamily they floated past. Plucked the poppies, rich and red, Bound them round the brows of life ; ' Come and rest with us,' they said, 1 Rest from all your barren strife.' So Life followed, poppy crowned, Steeped in blissful sleep, And her eyes, grown strange and round, Quite forgot to weep. Thus they wander on and on, As the holy spirits may ; Change is past, and time is gone, Till they meet the coming day - For they toil not, cannot weep, Feel not any scorn, In the arms of love and sleep, Dreaming through the corn. 52 SONG OF THE FAIR EXILE In this cold country of the seas The hills are gray, the mist is white ; My very spirit seems to freeze, I shut my eyes on such a sight. Then all about me everywhere Golden lilies float and dance ; My God, I wish that I were there The sun shines joyously in France ! In Scotland, people never smile, 'Tis months since I have heard a song ; They tell me I am very vile, And everything I do is wrong. There's nothing left but psalms and prayer, The folk don't even care to dance ; My God, I wish that I were there Men live so joyously in France ! 'Tis true that here I live in state, At home I've many foes, they say, Yet surely 'twere a noble fate To die thus free and young and gay ; SONG OF THE FAIR EXILE 53 Death comes to all, why should I care ? I think I'll go and take my chance, And if they murder me out there Well, folk die happily in France. Gold fetters bind my hands and feet, Men bow before me very low, And soldiers stand behind my seat, They follow me where'er I go. My guards take such unceasing care To save me from each evil chance, I often think in blank despair I'll never get to Heaven, or France ! Yet sometimes, for long hours, I stand And gaze and wonder at the sea ; And think of that fair distant land, The only Paradise for me ! Among the vines and olives there In sunshine all my spirits dance, My God, the South is very fair, Some day, I shall go back to France. Yon golden lilies, flowers of light, Still folded in the dark away, Shall flaunt yet in a nation's sight, Sun-gilded on that glorious day 54 SONG OF THE FAIR EXILE When all about us everywhere, The people laugh and sing and dance ; My God, I wish that I were there, Safe home at last in sunny France. 55 THE EXILE'S BETUBN You are old and I am young, Fling high the golden ball, Bells of joy for all are rung, The sun shines on us all. Eain fell heavily last night, Ah, but now the world is bright ! Let us laugh and sing and dance, For the sun shines fair in France. And the rainy night is done, Forward, Children of the Sun ! Though the orange blossom's dead And withered petals fall, Fling gold oranges instead, The sun shines on us all ! Here we are at home again, Past is our long dream of pain ; Let us laugh and sing and dance Though all flowers are dead in France Yet the day of death is done, For the Children of the Sun. 56 THE EXILE'S RETURN Though you people cannot sing, Yet catch the golden ball, There's a skylark on the wing, The sun shines on us all. Shines athwart the flitting breeze, On green vines and olive trees, Clasp your hands, my friends, and dance, Golden oranges of France, Life and liberty are won, By the Children of the Sun. Scotland may be gray with cold, Let hail or snowstorms fall, Here the world is green and gold, The sun shines on us all. Wave the flags and ring the bells, Out of Scottish dungeon cells Here we come to sing and dance, Back to liberty and France. Joy and freedom should be one To the Children of the Sun. Though the roses all are dead, Fling high the golden ball, Golden lilies bloom instead, The sun shines on us all. THE EXILE'S RETURN 57 Earth shall echo with the shout As we shake the banner out ; Bound the flag of Freedom dance, Splendid fleur-de-lys of France ! Life and liberty are one For the Children of the Sun ! 58 CLOUDS Deooping over Ireland, veiled in sombre gray, See the sky is weeping all its light away ; Heedless of the magic music of the spheres Drooping over Ireland, land of falling tears. Land of falling tears and broken promises ; Land of idle slaves and famine and distress, Land of crime and struggle, and of futile strife, Land of acquiescence, land without a life ! See amid the shadows where dead Ireland lies, Justice stands, the future flashes from her eyes : After thy new birth of travail and of pain, Eise, she says, dead nation, live and hope again. Nay, not dead but sleeping ; surely she shall wake, In her mighty hands her life and honour take, Drink the wine of courage, break the bread of life, Bear the sword of Freedom foremost in the strife. CLOUDS 59 Soon above those mountains clothed in sombre gray Joyous winds shall scatter clouds and mists away ; Ireland's sun is shining, strong and free again, And her fields are all the greener for the rain. 6o A TBAITOB. You think that I was false for guerdon or for gold, Nay, friends, I was not bought by such a base reward ; Whose fingers smote and rang out, fearlessly, of old Steel music, and the clashing rhythms of the sword. Nay, how could I have cared for any golden chain Beneath that hateful medal shining on my breast, My conquered heart beats on in sobs of smothered pain, I mourn for my lost faith, I cannot sleep nor rest. They did not try a bribe, they were too wise for that, They said, It's only just to hear the other side.' I wish that they had turned and stabbed me where I sat: No traitor, your true friend I should have lived and died. And now that I have left you, your young men have dared Their fickle friend and leader daily to revile A TRAITOR 6 1 I am ' he whose avarice all his soul ensnared,' 1 Who feigned to love, like Judas, hating all the while.' Nay, friends, can you not fancy, did you never find The foe that slays and spares not all you hold most dear, Your enemy, your heart's worst traitor, your own mind? For this is life's last strife, that all men born must fear ; With reason for a sword the mind goes forth to fight, The Heart's fair citadel is guarded by love's wall, Strange thoughts fly thick and fast, winged arrows swift as light, The feelings yield, the fight is o'er, the towers fall, And death, death, death, to those who flee or yield, Death to the vanquished, mercy is not there ; Cold lies the dead heart on the battle field, Food for that bitter worm men call Despair. 'Tis death, death, death, and this is death indeed, Lay the slain powers in a soldier's grave Now is the martial mind for ever freed ; See o'er the dead her glorious standard wave Fair flag of freedom, splendid star of Truth, I will follow ever where thy beams are shed ; Yea, though they light me to the grave of youth, And shine athwart pale faces newly dead. 62 A TRAITOR Hope for the morrow, faith in what shall be, Trust in the spirit's striving that ascends To hard-earned life, far stronger and more free Than all your long lost love, my scornful friends. 'Tis life, life, life, the battle on the height The wand'rer groping through the pathless wood The patient following of a far-off light The fight for freedom and for brotherhood. And if the darkness ever fades away, And in fair light we friends together stand, I think that I can promise in that day You shall not scorn to wring a traitor's hand ; For light, light, light is all we want on earth, Hearts were not hard if only eyes could see, We who are blind and selfish from our birth Are wrapped about with clouds and mystery. But light, light, light, we pray for all mankind A ray of sunshine on the churchyard sod, Fire in each heart a torch in every mind, A star among the shadows veiling God ! *3 AN EPITAPH God, I thank Thee that all things must end, That soon pale life shall strive and cry no more, That Death tears down the veil Faith cannot rend, And wide before me stands an open door ! That Thou hast given to pain a potent sword, And, building all the mansions of the Blest, Hast still created in Thy mercy, Lord, Before the House of Death, a Gate of Rest. And thou, my friend and comrade, hold my hand, Here on the threshold in the fading light Watch by my side, together let us stand And hearken to the voices of the night. Write thou these words in ashes, nay, embroider them In gold and purple, a phylactery Of pious thoughts, sewn round. the vesture's hem Of that pale ghost, fast-fading Memory : ' He was a slave, fast bound to Fortune's wheel, A saint, who strove in vain to serve the Lord A sufferer whom no human art could heal A soldier fighting with a broken sword 64 AN EPITAPH He was a sinner, whom may God forgive In pity on his life-long misery ; By his own heart betrayed he feared to live, By his own hand destroyed he dared not die ! Oh, listen, ye who stand upon the higher slope, And strain against the world's low prison bars, And climb the rugged mountain tops of Hope Seeking for Joy amongst the barren stars. Ye, who would probe the secrets of the night Fret not yourselves, ye go but whence ye came ; Climb ye by faith who have no clearer light, Back to the silent land without a name. Thus be assured that Peace shall come at last Though Hope be dead, and Faith grow cold and strange, And all your years of endless life be past Bow yourselves to the changeless law of change. Nay, when the wind's voice in the wilderness Prepares the way for winter, scattering Sweet memories of summer's long caress, And all the broken promises of Spring, Have ye not felt the first faint shudder pass ' Eight through the garden ; seen the daisies sink Their blushing faces deeper in the grass, Whilst high above them stricken lilies shrink, Each white-faced martyr bound upon a stake. The coward wind may stab them as it will, They know not how to bend, they cannot break, They can but wither slowly and be still. AN EPITAPH 65 See where the hollyhocks, a gaudy row, Stand up erect against the darkening sky, Flaunting so bravely lest the wind should know The secret of their burnt-up agony ; They too can bear their burden, undismayed, The hidden anguish and the secret stain, It is not only lilies that must fade Or chastened martyrs who can suffer pain ; Sinner and saint still languish side by side Virgin and harlot must alike endure To what man's life is misery denied ? Few can be martyrs, Death is always sure. Think ye that Christ alone in torment died, Whilst all the careless world stood round to see '? What of the thieves so justly crucified, One at each side of him on Calvary ? Who does not suffer, who shall enter in The narrow path that leadeth unto life Without the knowledge gained through death and sin, Unsanctified by grief and bitter strife ? Has not for man's salvation pain sufficed ? Those who with Him in torture drew their breath, Stand now for ever face to face with Christ, Ennobled thus and glorified by death, Thus bound together by a common woe, Scorn of despair and loss, contempt of gain, F 66 AN EPITAPH The only Christian brotherhood we know Is Christ's eternal brotherhood of Pain. All men are equal, yet in this alone The spirit lives, the body perisheth ; Amid the darkness of the blind unknown We feel the austere equality of death. Freedom is fair, yet is no spirit free, Bound and constrained by every linked nerve Of this great chain of flesh ; for liberty Is but the power to labour and to serve Unlimited, unfettered, unrestrained By the heart's weakness and the failing breath ; Only through pain is perfect peace attained, And life's ideal reached at last by death. Who are ye, then, that ye should stand alone Above the grovelling crowd serene and high, In the calm cloudland of the fair unknown, Building your golden stair to scale the sky ? Can ye throw back the sunset gates of flame, And gaze deep down into the Heaven's blue ? And write across the sky God's Holy Name, So that all men may know that He is true ? Nay, then, come down from these your lonely heights, Give up the holy joys of solitude, And stars and storms, and all divine delights ; Now the coarse faces of the multitude AN EPITAPH 67 Must be to you as once was nature's face, For the unfailing good, the changeless law of right, Do battle in the crowded market place I, the dead coward, bid you heroes fight ; And ye who dwell among the valleys, glad With the earth's gladness and the youth of things, Care not, though youth shall fail and all the joys ye had Fly from the rustling of death's mighty wings ; Though love be very fair and deep your life's delight, Yet rest is fairer, and the grave as deep ; Hearken unto the voices of the night, Shall there be any bliss like this of sleep ? f2 68 FINGEB POSTS i This is the way of Heaven : you may kneel And beat your breast for hours in futile prayer. No faint light flickers on the golden stair, No hand draws back the curtains that conceal That land of shadows men imagine fair, And the beloved shade who wanders there Invisible, no power shall reveal. Men talk of all the strength of love and faith ; Vain words and false, it is an idle boast To dream we hold communion with a ghost, Or bring to earth again a vanished wraith. No shadow answers to a shadow's call, This is the way of all things spiritual. ii This is the way of Nature, as of old, When from the primal darkness first there grew Flowers, and the sun shone and all the sky was blue, And life's bright promises were manifold, FINGER POSTS 69 Her hidden wealth is now as then untold ; He who digs deep enough shall find her true, Each miner gains at last his honest due Of her great buried store of gems and gold. This is the way of Earth : she hears the call Of every ploughman's prayer ; the labourer, If he be worthy, has his will of her From the deep furrows where the good seeds fall. She brings forth hope, and all the life that clings Round the strong patience of material things. in This is the way of Sorrow : wearily Should one set out with such a weary guide ; The path is narrow and the world is wide, And no man knoweth any reason why. And yet 'tis foolishness to strive or cry, The doom must fall on whom the gods decide, They walk with pain for ever at their side, Through her long wilderness of mystery. Yet though sweet sorrow hath few words to say, A dull companion on a lonely road ; Yea, though she hath not faith enough to pray ; And on life's shoulders binds a heavy load, Her heart is true, her footsteps shall not stray. She leads at last unto the gods' abode. 70 FINGER POSTS IV This is the way of Joy : the artist knows The secret that makes all things fresh and fair. She gives a fragrance to the summer air, And, flashing by where life's dull river flows, She shakes the languor of its slow repose, And drives it, scattering music everywhere, Up to the foot of Heaven's golden stair, Through the wild tangles of the mystic rose ; There, in the shade beside the river's bed, She rests awhile, and dabbles in the stream Till down the giddy mazes of her dream She finds the little peaceful hour has fled. Then forth into the startled sky she springs With swift wet feet, and shining golden wings. This is the way of Life when Joy has fled : She passes through a wilderness of cloud, And, wrapped in music for a mimic shroud, She comes unto the dwellings of the Dead. No river now, a mournful nymph instead, By Joy's short sojourn with a soul endowed, She seeks for her among the nameless crowd That throng the gateway of the Halls of Dread Seeks for the long-lost Joy, the light divine, The Paradise that she shall never win FINGER POSTS 71 Content at last, and glad to enter in Despair's abode, and rest with Proserpine, Sorrow, whose eyes are dark with unshed tears, And all the ghostly company of fears. VI This is the way of Love : a ray of light In the mid forest through the foliage shines, And makes green shadows of the serried pines, Bringing a secret pathway into sight, Where two may walk alone in their delight, And half in darkness : for the thick set lines Of mighty trees their narrow road confines With the black limits of enshrouding night. Yet has the forest fortress failed in strength ; Swift windy beams split through the leafy screen, And pierce the heavy shroud of waving green, Until the narrow pathway feels at length The strength of sunshine and the light of rain, And broadens out into the open plain. VII This is the road of Hope, that some men call The way of Love, far out of human sight, Amid strange mansions of austere delight : A way of shadows, pale, aethereal, 72 FINGER POSTS High among stars and storms, outsoaring all The silent glories of each lonely height, Above the tumult of the windy night, Beyond the bounds of Heaven's cloudy wall, Still God's calm splendour shineth overhead, The great white way where light and gladness are; This is the Joy of earth transfigured, Set high in heaven, very faint and far ; The glorious Highway of the holy Dead, The path of Love from star to scattered star. 73 HYMN ' The wind bloweth where it listeth. ... So is everyone that is born of the Spirit.' Holy Spibit, force of light, Soul of beauty out of sight, Height of light and depth of pain, Golden sunshine after rain ; Shivering seas and winds that glide, Shadows on the mountain side, All things swift and all things strong, Life and colour, hope and song, Are Thine, O Lord Divine. Freedom of the winds that fly Through waste spaces of the sky, Freedom of the thoughts that range On from change to endless change, Force of life that shall not yield, Victor on the battle-field, Lightning winged, and fire shod, Freedom of the laws of God ; 74 HYMN Spirit born of liberty, If the truth can make us free, In the power of the whole Of the world's impatient soul, Strive with us when we aspire In the strength of self-restraint, To the land above desire, And the life beyond constraint Of the saint. 75 SONNET They who rise satiate from Life's banquet, spread With mystic providence of food and wine, Would worship something for an outward sign That they are grateful, being fully fed. Thus do they reverence golden calves instead Of God, and all high thoughts resign, Mistake abundance for the life Divine, Fulfilment for the secret of the dead. They shall not probe the mysteries of pain, The primal truths, whose feet have never trod Life's barren wilderness of strife and strain, Nor learnt among her solitudes that God Not Satan is the spirit that denies, The life and essence of self-sacrifice. 7 6 A SOLDIEE 1 Young knight, go forth and slay The Dragon while 'tis day, For soon the sun will set On your most vain regret, That no fair deed is done Ere set of sun.' ' Nay, rather would I fight In darkness,' said the knight, 1 Than go forth unprepared Unto my work, ensnared By reckless vanity, To do or die. ' My sword not sharp enough, My armour sorry stuff, My horse half trained and wild, Defenceless as a child And immature, Defeat were sure.' A SOLDIER 77 1 Yet doth the snake alway Such harmless people slay, And work his wicked will, The while you linger still, Jousting and throwing spears Through youth's best years. 1 And all your blows ring hard, Sham fighting in the yard ; I pray you waste no time, The battle joy sublime Is life to men like you. Bold hearts are few.' The soldier answered not, But still his blows fell hot And thick ; his way he rent Through the mad tournament ; Long strove he undismayed To learn his trade. But when strong-armed he rode At last from his abode, The country people said, ' Behold, the Dragon's dead. For all your warlike state, You are too late. 78 A SOLDIER 1 A knight unknown to fame, A braver warrior, came Across the sea to do The deed God meant for you. Thus has a stranger's sword Earned your reward ! ' He smiled. ' Shall I repine For fame that is not mine, And grudge with childish greed Another man his deed ? Mourn at the sight of this Brave brother's bliss ? 1 Whilst still beneath the sun There's work for every one, And never yet was knight Who found no foe to fight, No sword did ever lack Some skull to hack ! ' ' As long as hearts are wrung, As long as songs are sung, Whilst still the Star of Hope Eeigns in Life's horoscope, The whole world through There's work to do.' A SOLDIER 79 1 Then forth strong armed I go To meet an unknown foe, An unknown friend to save, And fill an unknown grave. Thank God, the world is wide Through which I ride ! Forward through field and wood, To some far goal of good, Content if by the way Some evil thing I slay ; Dreaming, when life seems hard, Of Joyous Gard.' I know not how he fared Who was so well prepared, Nor if the tales were true, Of giants that he slew, Of deeds of valour done, And battles won. Of hardships well endured, And captives fast immured He set at liberty Such things as these may be Eight well I know he did his best- Sweet be his rest ! 8o FEBBUABY AT AD ABE Beneath a mist of dog- wood buried deep, Here, as I passed along the riverside, I found the Spring low-laid in blissful sleep, Entranced she seemed, yet watching open-eyed The deep brown pools that lie beneath the stream Like great thoughts hidden in a misty dream, The shadowy fishes darting to and fro, And all the wintry sunshine come and go. She seemed as one about to wake, who lingers Yet on the blessed borderland of consciousness, Her hair streamed down between her clasped fingers, And fell upon the stream like a caress, To make a little passing stir and shiver In the cool surface of the lazy river. You might have thought her dead, so still she lay, This sleeping beauty, whom the tyrannous time Had left to dream the ice-bound hours away In calm despair or confidence sublime. The laurel wreathed about her sunken head Its sickly fragrance through the bower shed ; FEBRUARY AT ADARE Si All round here there had grown a magic ring, Enchanted snowdrops, whitely blossoming, Planted by faery hands long time ago, Perfect alike in beauty and in number, Bore witness to the pureness of her slumber ; Unstained of sinfulness, undimmed by woe, Passed by of fear, untouched by joy or sorrow, Serene she waits life's call and God's divine to- morrow. 82 A CHOICE In His Eainbow Garden, God Made the Spirit of the Spring, The very sunshine on the sod Eose to greet her, seemed to sing, As she opened her eyes In the Flower's Paradise. On the morning of her birth He gave her leave to pluck a flower From his Eainbow Garden bower, To take with her down to earth. The Spirit chose No gaudy rose ; She passed where lilies blossomed fair, Making sweet the fields of air, Golden sunflowers in vain Called to her to turn again ; When her scent-compelling feet Trod violets, she found them sweet, And passed the fragrant flowers by, And hurried down the Eastern sky ; A CHOICE S3 Till by Heaven's utmost wall She met the Dawn, who, as she went, Scattered blossoms, letting fall A glory through the firmament. Down like a faded star she threw, Laughing softly all the while, A primrose drenched in light and dew, The very spirit of her smile. Then was Spring astonished, She caught the pale delight and fled To where, on the horizon's verge, Heaven and earth in dreamland merge, And the silver April showers Scatter music through the skies ; There she found no garden flowers, Nor any bird of Paradise, But an earthly skylark sang, And Heaven's weeds were growing wild, Then through the Eainbow's arch therl rang The laughter of an eager child, As, roaming o'er the Eastern hills, She gathered common daffodils. 82 8 4 SWEET PEAS To Mabel Sweet peas ! The very life of Spring Stirs each frail wing To a diviner colour, fair As the first glimmering Of moonlight in a spirit's hair. Sweet with the essence of unfolding flowers, Fresh with the fragrance of the morning hours, Bury thy face deep down in dreams of these, Sweet Peas ! Lift up thy heart to the divine delight Of their frail flight ; Be tiiy life stirred by subtle airs Like theirs, To the faint music of the coloured dream They seem ! The liquid light that paints the early sky, Ere in the noonday it grows cold and dry, Is yours, fair flowers, yours are the sunny ways Of sweet spring days ; As frozen earth, the while she sleeps below This cruel sky grown white with thoughts of snow, SWEET PEAS 85 Dreaming a dream of colour, seems to see The glory and the green that soon shall be, So does my heart, sweet peas, Though it may freeze, Long for the sun to warm it through and through, Dream of the touch of God's own colour blue, And wandering through Fancies garden beds, Where ghosts of blasted rose trees droop their heads And weep down icicles instead of dew, Gain gladness from the very thoughts of you. 86 LAMENT Oh, the streak of gold in the gray, And the sun's first ray of light, And the fresh cold air of the day On the burning cheek of night, And the winds that shake as they pass The glory of piled-up sheaves, The shadow of wings on the grass, And the rustle of autumn leaves, Are as songs that are out of fashion That no man loves or sings, Since life in the fire of passion Has blackened her rainbow wings. The glory of struggle and strain The joy of the world at morn, The light of the falling rain, The strength of the growing corn, A smile that transfigures the Truth, The sound of a voice that sings, The glory and gladness of youth, And the splendour of obvious things, The songs that were dear to the singer, Dead and devoid of mirth LAMENT 87 Are lost to the gods in heaven And voices of men upon earth. For the star of our hope burns faint, And the light of the world grows dim, As the halo that crowns a saint, Or the notes of a vesper hymn ; And thoughts are too bitter for words, And the silence grows and grows And there's never a song from the birds, Nor a scent from the dying rose ; And fear in the soul of a nation Makes dreadful a noble strife, Whilst death, with a cold negation, Has broken the heart of life. Yet the sun still gladdens the sky, And the giddy stars endure, For the end is not yet nigh, The meaning is still obscure ; Doomed spirits, unwilling to die, Can murmur still as they pass Into Silence and Mystery, 1 Perhaps,' as well as Alas ' ; For still the delight of colour Lies blue on the distant hills, And the air of spring's all golden With sunshine and daffodils. 88 "La mort est le baiser de Dieu. Pain is the price of freedom we must pay, Wrapped in the pride of our most noble birth, Cut off from all the brotherhood of earth, We fret and struggle through our little day, And senselessly despise the senseless clay, Yet in the spring time feel but little mirth, And wonder whether what we gain is worth The gift of peace, so lightly cast away ; The silence and the strange unconscious life Of flowers and trees, deep rooted, strongly bound Beneath the base dominion of the ground, So near to nature, calm amid the strife Of forces, life's degrading fight for breath, And all the noble quietness of death. 89 SONNET Strong spirit, striving upward to the light, Soul of the world, half smothered in its dust Breath of the battle, life's despairing trust, In progress and hope's golden winged flight ! Where art thou, spirit ? Vainly through the night We call. Thy sword is eaten up with rust We know that thou art strong as thou art just, Why hast thou wholly vanished from our sight ? The Spirit works in darkness, secretly, Among the hidden depths and roots of things, Down in those caverns where no skylark sings, But germs of power and buried forces lie. Have patience, when all flags of hope are furled, Still there is courage in the under world ! 9 THE ABBOTS EPITAPH 1 The summary of a good man's life, 1 The record of his earthly strife, 1 A holy message to his heirs 1 Beseeching for their constant prayers ; 1 A voice of warning and of doom 1 Out of the silence of the tomb, 1 So deep anon. 1 Such things as these I mean to write 1 Ere I go forth into the night, 1 With my last breath they shall be said ' And carved in marble o'er my head,' Said Father John. 1 That every passer by may see 1 That Death is Life's epitome ' When I am gone.' The Mass was sung, the prayers were said, We came about his dying bed, And prayed the most beloved of men To tell his mourning children then, THE ABBOT'S EPITAPH 91 Whilst still he flickered to and fro 'Twixt Life and Death prepared to go, Yet lingering on, What those most sacred words might be Of the long written Elegy, The Holy Rede that should be read, Carved in the marble o'er his head, When he was gone. He turned his face away from us 1 Miserrimus, miserrimus ! ' Said Father John. 9 2 SHUT OUT 'Twas hard to bear, For years to wander thus and wait Amid pale shadows of half real despair In the dull road outside the Ivory Gate. All round my feet the pansies grew Nodding their wise heads to and fro Mocking faces gold and blue Seemed to whisper ' No, No, No, No thoroughfare.' How strange it seems, Now round me poppies blossom red, Low at my feet the river gleams, Great beach boughs rustle overhead ; Pansies, you mocked me all in vain, Light flowers who did not understand, Fade on outside, I live again, And labour in the magic land Of Light and Dreams. 93 PETTY LARCENY Lived a man was wont to steal Oysters for his daily meal, He broke them open with a stone, And ate them on the shore alone. One day he had not strength enough, Or else the shell was very tough, He struggled till he sprained his wrist, E'en then the knave did not desist, But forced the oyster open wide And found a glorious pearl inside ! 94 MONOTONY Oh, poor, pale days that pass me by Thus one by one ! With neither tempest nor blue sky, Nor wind nor sun. Glad without smiles, and sad without a sigh, Beloved of none : Content to fade away and die At set of sun. With neither stars nor flowers nigh, Nor evening breeze nor sunset sky When day is done. 95 TBANSMIGBATIONA NIGHTMABE Down in the darkness of his damp abode I heard the moaning of the dismal toad : I I was a princess on a golden chair, Eight joyously I breathed the upper air, With glory crowned and gladness shod The polished palace floors I trod ; I smiled to hear my mother say, " Such shows as these shall pass away." Now as I sit where the well is deep, I weep all day, all night I weep, For the gladness has gone, and the glory flown, And here I live in the mud alone.' 9 6 FROM BACON Wings for the feet, not shoulders, poets need, To grace the motion of the flying deed, Slowly prepared, accomplished with speed. 97 TO MAY Theough the garden of my dreams Scantily the sunlight gleams, And the barren grass plot seems Void of grace. Yea, a wilderness indeed ! Every flower has run to seed, Dying slowly ; every weed Grows apace. In the spring last year there grew Violets white and violets blue, But never a dream or a flower for you, May, the Queen. Though your small feet, as you walk, Hardly bend the cowslip's stalk, Or disturb the daisies' talk On the green ; H 9 8 TO MAY And your white hands would not mar The petals of one yellow star, Where primroses in clusters are, In the grass ; Though I know you fear to break The blue bell's stem, or even shake Her fragile tower for music's sake, As you pass, Yet methinks 'tis passing strange To hear the sudden catch and change In the ringings airy range Of delight. Such a chilly sobbing breath Through the sunshine shivereth ; From the open gates of Death, And of Night ; Till the music's rapid whim Groweth very slow and dim, Dying in a mournful hymn Solemnly, And each heavy purple bell Seems to ring a funeral knell For the spirit of the dell Doomed to die : TO MAY 99 While without the garden rail Bright anemones turn pale As the lilies of the vale, And the breeze, Where the sleeping river lies Underneath the tranced skies In swift gusts of terror flies Through the trees. Seemeth it so small a thing Clouds and darkness thus to fling In the sunny face of Spring, Striking down All the thrills and flights of thirds Of the music of the birds, With a weight of weary words And a frown ! Till the lark in his ascent Seemeth but to make lament, That all flowers have lost their scent On the earth ; And the tulips talk in Dutch, Of the little human touch That makes sadness overmuch For their mirth, h2 TO MAY Whilst the wild wood Columbine, Cannot for her life divine Why the sun has ceased to shine, As of old. Where across the lawn you glide, Buttercups on every side Deep among the mosses hide, All their gold. At the rustle of your gown The very sunshine seems to frown, And the daisies shudder down In the grass. Shall I thank you much for this That you spare my clematis, For you blight it with a kiss, As you pass. Ah ! the cowslips once were sweet, Spreading out their golden sheet In a carpet for your feet, Soft and bright. Yet they faded one by one, Lying withered in the sun Till the very thrushes shun Such a sight. TO MAY 101 Two tall tulips by the gate Spent the sunny hours of late In a stately tete-a-tete, Growing bold. Nodding each emphatic head, Found their petticoats too red, Wished that they were white instead, Trimmed with gold. Now their petals flutter down, And the scarlet fades to brown, As a smile turns to a frown In your eyes. Oh the dead dreams everywhere ; Winged hopes that once were fair, Flitting through the tremulous air, Butterflies ! Broken winged and dead they lie, Where beneath the faded sky Every flower seems to die, In the land. Blossoms wither where you go, The very brambles will not grow ; The grass looked yellow as from snow Where you stand, TO MAY Leaning lightly, lest you fall, Like a lily white and tall, With the carven sun-dial For a crutch. Thrilling through his overgrown And moss-hidden heart of stone, With the melody unknown Of your touch. You, before whose blighting breath Every flower withereth, Have cast your shadow as of Death On the green. In the spring this year there grew Nothing but rosemary and rue, And one white lily flower for you, May, the Queen. io3 A WELCOME Friend, you enter to your heritage at length, You may pluck your laurels from the ruins of our strength ; Desecrate our churches, liberate our slaves, Gather roses even from the gardens of our graves. But this thing I charge you, nay, beseech you, gracious lord, Though you ravage all the city now with fire and the sword, Though our lives go down in darkness and our children's blood is spilt, Yet respect the gold we toiled for, and the treasury we built ; You, who know not any worship for things mortal or divine, Bow your head and enter humbly, this is Mammon's inmost shrine. io4 A LOST MEMORY Ivory-gated, velvet-lined Is the cupboard in my mind, Where I put the things I find On the shelves. There behind the great white door Lies my precious, piled-up store All the things I knew before I saw the elves. Misery, ah ! misery, They have made a fool of me, Stealing thus my golden key In the night. When I tried to break the lock, The house trembled with the shock, But the door stood like a rock, Firm and white. A LOST MEMORY 105 For the elves, they understood, I might curse them if I would, It was not the slightest good "Waste of breath. When I meet them on the stairs They laugh at all my fruitless prayers, For they say my key is theirs Until Death. Oh, lock up your dusty shelves ! Lest the little reckless elves, Seeking what they want themselves, Should invade The dark cupboards of your mind, Hide your keys, or you may find That they leave no hope behind On their raid. io6 SPBING IN MANCHESTER The ghost of Twilight seems to dog The feet of golden morning hours, The sun gleams silver through the fog, And silver frost lies on the flowers. Poor battered crocus, feebly fair, Smutty and stained and crouching down, Half stifled by the smoky air And murky coldness of the town. And snowdrops, dreaming such a dream Of magic sounds too sweet for sight, And sunlit fields, and streams that seem The very smile of Spring's delight. When, long e'er primroses unfold Their leaves, or birds care much to sing, Bright crocus flowers with cloth of gold Weave fairy carpets for the spring, SPRING IN MANCHESTER 107 Where all the earth is fresh and clean, In deep still woods the snowdrops grow. And spread above the struggling green Their whiteness like a fall of snow. First flowers of the Spring to be You chosen children of the light ; Was it but inborn purity That made you so divinely white ? Nay, rather powers of sun and breeze, And fresh sweet air, and scent, and sound, The sunshine gleaming through the trees, The gentle forces of the ground. Else had you not grown lovelier Than these grey ghosts who mourn their loss, The great beech boughs that shake and stir Above green bowers of rain-washed moss. You flowers who shiver through the gloom, Bound whom the blighting east wind sighs, Was it your fault, or Nature's doom, That shut you out from Paradise ? Eemorselessly she passed you by, Poor broken-petalled silver ghosts, Phantoms of flowers, left to die So far from all her sunny hosts. io8 SPRING IN MANCHESTER Her gay-clad hosts, whose light and mirth Brings sunshine to the eyes of Truth, And crowns the ancient brows of earth With garlands of eternal youth, 'Twas strange she left you lying there, With weeds and bits of broken glass, You that might once have been so fair Dead flowers on the blackened grass. And yet not strange, for all her ways Are hard and oftentimes unjust, Yet gently, after many days, She mingles always dust with dust. Dust of bright blossoms, manifold Dust of stained petals, glad to fall, Mixed with the same devouring mould The same stars shine above them all. Forgotten, yet not all unblest, Eedeemed from strife, and hope, and fear, Wrapped in that silent dream of rest, Whence springs the life of every year. Dead flowers ! To the world is lost So much of beauty, joy, and light, Killed by an accidental frost Embittering a winter's night. 109 AFTER THE STOBM How the battle raged last night Through my garden of delight, And the east wind carried death In the terror of its breath. Broken is each lily's cup The very moss is withered up, Where life and light were once outpoured, One sunbeam, like a dead man's sword, Lies split and shattered on the grass, Alas ! alas ! no DEFEATED One more defeat ! and so we've failed again ; We can but yield, heart stricken and forlorn ; Our swords are broken and our heroes slain, The very flag of freedom stained and torn. There's none to stand, and not one left to strike, And evening veils the flight we call retreat ; The sun goes down on friend and foe alike, Their glorious victory and our defeat. 1 It is too dark to fight,' a traitor's cry : The sky's yet red, the sun's not quite gone down. Cowards ! ye still see well enough to fly ; Strike now, if any yet would save the town ! One more defeat, you think it's time to yield ; Nay, we're not conquered, only driven back, For in the language of the battle-field One more defeat means but one more attack. DEFEATED in A desperate hope, by desperation led, Shall triumph in the strong name of despair ; For the great cause, in honour of the dead, Charge once again, now follow ye who dare ! Oh ! comrades, heroes, can you still hang back ? * 'Tis madness ! ' Nay, can courage not enlarge The bounds of reason ? Is it that you lack Courage ? No ! then sound the trumpet. Charge ! FBOM THE FBENCH (of Victoe Hugo). When the fog hangs heavy and chill as death, When the moonlight floats where the sunshine stood, And the evening fills with its shivering breath The pallid darkness of field and wood We will walk through the green land weeping again, We will lean and rest in the dying light, Our mortal souls opened out by pain, On the flowers that are open at night. Calm night has made such a sombre prayer From the rumours of earth and the stars above, Whilst we, of the darkness of life and despair Have made but love. "3 THE PHILOSOPHER (Bacon) You think it strange that I resort To seek Diogenes at Court ? Nay, for he knows he needs material things, To give them is the privilege of kings : Whilst the poor king, indeed, Knows not his own sore need, Else he would put his empty glory by And kneel to court divine philosophy. H4 TO CERTAIN REFORMERS As long as idols stand In the holy place, as of old, And, instead of light through the land, Shines the tawdry glitter of gold, So long as the senses reign, And the spirit is trodden down, Your desire ye shall not gain, Ye shall not win your crown ; For the flesh is very strong, And the spirit is weak in the strife, And the weak must suffer wrong, These are the ways of life : Yet, take your swords in hand, And fight for the light to be, And the spirit's promised laud Of Truth and Liberty. White-souled women of the past, Heard ye not the trumpet blast ? Were your spirits less pure then, Feebler than the souls of men ? Men who told you, you are good, Holy, be it understood, And yet neither strong nor wise May the spirit purge their eyes TO CERTAIN REFORMERS 115 And teach the foolish world at length That purity is always strength. Eight divine to rule ye feel, Strong in you the stronger born, Then your right divine reveal, Lest your claims be met with scorn ; For whilst the sky shines clear and blue Above us, these two things are sure, Who would be wise must first be true, Who would be strong must first be pure. Ye who have not learnt your power, Whose chained spirits shrink and cower Slavery stunted, idly tame, Lift your hearts whilst every nerve Quickens, in the spirit's name Boldly claim the right to serve ! Band together, fighters you, Strength and wisdom shall endure, Who would be wise must first be true, Who would be strong must first be pure Then put your trust In the spirit's strife ; The body is dust, And the spirit life, And take your swords in hand To fight for the Light to be, Ye shall reach your promised land, And the Truth shall make you free. i2 n6 FALLEN NATUBE What though thick clouds have quenched the moon, And all the stars must follow soon, For blind winds groping in the dark Swiftly blow out each flaring spark, Whilst the night grows wild and strange With the voice of change, What though the room is warm and bright, And the fire burns gold on a chilly night Let us rise up, my soul, and go, For outside in the wind and the snow I see a shadowy form, I hear a voice in the storm Oh, Lucifer ! through closed doors My heart goes out to yours. Soul of the Universe, My soul immerse, In the deep waters of the rolling years, And all the rainbow light of falling tears. FALLEN NATURE 117 Son of the morning, art thou fallen indeed As the good seed, The life of spring that's lying now Cold in the furrows of the plough, In the first glory of the deep Unconsciousness of blessed sleep, The winged seed that shall arise To flaunt against the summer skies Till God from His mercy seat Sees the banner of the wheat, Her brazen yellow flag unfurled, Waving out across the world. Thus, Lucifer, from Earth's cold clay Be thy Eesurrection Day, Fallen Nature reascend, With the higher forces blend This hidden human life of thine, Thy sacrament of bread and wine. Yet, soul of sin and life and pain When thou dost enter heaven again, Remember that the earth was sweet To thy naked human feet, Remember that the sea shone bright, Spread out before the gates of light ; When thou dost wave thy spirit's wing, Think of the earth's good spirit spring, And how her meadows were more fair Than any wind-sown field of air ; n8 FALLEN NATURE Pwemember how her daffodils Waved vagrant over all the hills Nay, long before thy second birth, Most humble angel of the earth ; Eemember, though thou wert not then Regenerate or fit for men, Earth spirit, essence of the sod, Thou wert yet very near to God ! ii9 VISIONS OF SOLITUDE To Con Who shall venture to intrude In the dim secluded wood, Where the birds have hushed their song, Fearing to do silence wrong, And the wind's breath scarcely stirs In the midst of shadowy firs ; Whilst the sunshine, pale and thin, Hardly dares to enter in, Such a sombre gloom profound Hallows the enchanted ground ? Here old Time might end his life, Eest from all his toil and strife, Lay his sickle in the grass, Smile to watch the hours pass, And the low winds wander by, Eustling through eternity. Hush ! the silence grows immense Soon a shape shall issue thence ; 12 o VISIONS OF SOLITUDE Some fair Goddess white and tall, Shadowy-limbed, majestical ; Leaning on her bow and spear, Cynthia's self might venture here ; Satyrs through the bracken glide, Or the lonely wood nymph hide, 'Twas in such a place that Pan Last was seen of mortal man. Have the gods then in derision Swept away our powers of vision, Dreams and poems manifold, Souls of stories never told, And those sacred fancies, known Once to Mother Earth alone ? Have they robbed her thus and fled, Gone to dwell amongst the Dead ? Bringing these good gifts of hers To their ancient worshippers. Shadowy Phantoms, wild and gray, Sweep along the great white way, Shattering stars and scattering light In the tumult of their flight, Seeking high above the sky In the Halls of Harmony Light and peace, where lonely fate Their desire can satiate ; Where no human voices rude On their silence can intrude, VISIONS OF SOLITUDE But the Eainbow's column spread Joins the living and the dead, There they dwell alone, afar, On some vast mysterious star ; Or could time perchance deface Even Aphrodite's grace, Cynthia, growing old and wan, Cease to charm Endymion ? Or the light grow dim that lies In Athene's cold gray eyes ? The twilight of the gods began First when Psyche flouted Pan, Leaving him alone to dream By the bulrush-bordered stream, Forsaking the strange brotherhood And secrets of the magic wood, Foregoing all its ecstasies And half-discovered mysteries Of shady light and living shade ; The all inconstant careless maid From her faithful Lover fled, Following the Gleam,' she said. So it is no vision stays In these dim degenerate days, To dazzle unaccustomed eyes With its old world ecstasies. Who shall wake the music mute Of Apollo's broken lute ? VISIONS OF SOLITUDE What strange priestess now can tell The secrets of his oracle ? Nay, then in this dim and sweet Shadow of a green retreat Are the voices of the wood Clearly known and understood, Have the rash intruding hours, Searching out all hidden powers, Dragged its secrets forth to lie Bare beneath the open sky ? And that song, to Life unknown, Sung by Mother Earth alone, Melody no spirit dare Breathe upon the shrinking air Sacred music unconfined, Born of Silence and the wind, Faintly heard amid the strife Of Life that crieth out to Life, Echoed back from sound to sleep, Deep that answereth to Deep. Dying with the mutterings Of those hopeless drowning things, . That strive against the infinite Dark waters of oblivion's night, To wake the silence with a cry, And probe the depths of mystery ; Making a transient flash and gleam On the dark face of Lethe's stream, VISIONS OF SOLITUDE 123 A little shower of foam and light, Flecking the surface of the night. Heard by Bros, drowning there The echoes of unanswered prayer, Bending o'er the chasm's brink, Watching life and gladness sink, Through the skies reflected show, Down to the dim depths below ; Saved by Love when Hope was gone, Rescued from oblivion, Softly sung above the Dead Sweet with joy remembered, To Eros self grown doubly dear, When chanted over Psyche's bier, The North wind heard it passing by And caught the ancient melody ; Sang it loud along the black Silence of his nightly track ; Rang it clear across the sky In great waves of harmony, Beating up against the white Glory of the growing light, Thundering through Heaven above Love's triumphant call to Love. Dying when he fails for breath, Death that answereth to Death ! Is that mighty music past, Has the world grown old at last ? i2 4 VISIONS OF SOLITUDE Does the soul of man desire Less Prometheus' stolen fire, Can Tantalus his great thirst slake ? Have weary hearts then ceased to ache ? Do the Hours no longer throng Bound the chariot of song, When the first swift quenched spark Shudders out into the dark, Waiting with awe-stricken eyes For the golden shaft that flies Suddenly and free and fair Through great waves of throbbing air, Down to where all swathed and hid By oblivion's coverlid Earth lies sleeping, in her dreams The sudden flash of fire gleams, New-born thoughts and feelings start Into life in her chill heart, Every Dream becomes a flower, Deep rooted, waiting for its hour ; In cold and darkness yet unborn, Striving upwards to the morn. How the struggling souls resent The prisons of their punishment ! Beneath the silence and repose That every peaceful valley knows, And wintry calmness of the hills, Deep buried Life and sorrow thrills, VISIONS OF SOLITUDE 125 And earth's great heart must throb and ache For a smothered snowdrop's sake, Till by the old accustomed pain She knows herself alive again. Are no midnight vespers chanted ? No dark caverns vision haunted ? Does no man worship now Divine Poppy crowned Proserpine ? Has the laurel ceased to grow ? Do the nymphs no longer know How to make its foliage stir Best to charm the wanderer, That this forest glade can be Untenanted of mystery ? Hark, a rustle in the grass, Heard ye not the wood nymph pass Nay, she did not pass, but stayed, Gazed around her unafraid, Look upon her ye who dare, Is she not, then, passing fair ? Mystery of mysteries ! By yonder tree the goddess lies, And, although its branches spread Leafy shelter round her head, Still the sunbeams shiver through On her coronet of dew, i26 VISIONS OF SOLITUDE And strange robes of radiant green, Faery maiden, Forest Queen Of the dim enchanted wood, Phantom haunted Solitude ! ii Let us sail and sail away Eight across the sunny bay, Leaving far behind the shore Where the breakers evermore Toss themselves and foam and fret, Vainly striving to forget What the inconstant sea gulls say, Flashing on them through the spray, Far beyond the sun's bright gates, Where the quiet twilight waits, And no ripples wave and sigh, But the cold dead waters lie, And the white sail flaps and falls Like great flags at festivals. Bound us such a calm is spread The sea's strange spirit might be dead, Dead or drifting in a swoon Through the silent afternoon, Down to where the great waves are Breaking on the sandy bar. Surely we shall find the vision Of that sunset land Elysian, VISIONS OF SOLITUDE 127 Where the clouds and mountains go In the dreamy afterglow, Hush ! the silence grows immense, Till a Presence issues thence ; Folded are her rainbow wings, Softly to herself she sings, And her white feet may be seen Dabbling in the waters green, Whilst the winds on either hand Seemed to wait her high command, Chained and silent to fulfil The mighty maiden's sovereign will. High she sits, alone, serene, Holy Universal Queen, Snowy limbed and white and nude Ocean Maiden Solitude ! 128 FINIS The dogwood's dead, and a mantle red Over the corpse is flung, Bow down, oh willow, your silver head, Summer's silver and winter's red Glory and gray and green have fled, All winds are silent, all sorrows said, And all songs sung. PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOOPE AND CO., NEYV-STOEKT SQUARE U>NDON 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. RENEWALS ONLY - Tel. No. 642-3405 MM 18 19^8^ Kimf 1 S IQftf NyV * vj *<*" RECE1VED Ui NOV 1 13bU ^QCULATION DEP1 Tnoi , inm1)(!a General Library V&Slioi n?lVfiT? University of California (H7452sl0)476B Berkeley UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY